


To Cry a Million Tears

by A_Tired_Writer



Series: Three Houses Fics [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Byleth and their emotions, Emotional Hurt, Felix and HIS emotions because hoo boy, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt, Little comfort, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 09:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20579954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Tired_Writer/pseuds/A_Tired_Writer
Summary: Such was the price of loving.





	To Cry a Million Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for everything up until the Remire Calamity. This is through the Blue Lions Route, but I imagine it's the same for all the stories.

Crying was as unpleasant as everyone had led them to believe. That burning behind your eyes, that immovable lump sitting idle in your throat, choking you and stealing the air from your lungs—as if you had anything more to give. Never before had a pit so dark and hollow and wide opened up in Byleth’s gut, swallowing their heart and leaving behind nothing but a ghost of what had been.

Jeralt was dead. Byleth had never felt so alone.

Everyone around the monastery was behind painfully nice to them, empty condolences and assurances that yes, Jeralt would indeed be proud of them, his irreplaceable pride and joy.

Byleth had only cried once in their life. Frankly, that was one time too many.

Everything was starting to catch up with them, after throwing themself into their work and busying themself with questions from their students. Byleth did not want to think about the empty Captain’s quarters or the equally empty spot just behind their heart.

Dimitri swore up and down that he would do anything if Byleth asked it. They knew that promise, that blank slate of a vow could mean anything—tasks that would tarnish the reputation of the Crown Prince should it come to light. But—even so, when Byleth thought about that loyalty they’d done precious little to deserve, it slowly started to piece together the fragments of their heart.

And Byleth would appreciate that forevermore, that unwavering trust—would call on him the second they moved to strike against those who’d taken so much from them. But, right now, Byleth was choking around those emotions that were not just their own, but the empathetic pain from everyone around them.

One person they’d come across, one swordsman that would not spend every waking around pitying them—that was the company Byleth needed in that moment.

“Felix.”

The Fraldarius heir turned to face them, elegant and stoic as ever. Byleth couldn’t have been more glad to see his brow still furrowed in annoyance, arms crossed as he levelled his professor with a glare.

“What?”

“Spar with me.”

They needed to swing a sword. They needed to get everything out—because it was stifling. Byleth had felt things all their life; happiness when Jeralt would clap them on the back after a job well done, irritation when they had to yank back a new addition to their band of mercenaries. But this—they needed to be rid of it, _now_.

“Let’s go.”

Byleth had never been a devout believer, but they were this close to thanking whatever being was in the sky for allowing Felix to fall victim to their strangling, buzzing energy.

Felix wouldn’t admit it, but he was nearing his limit. Despite that, he wouldn’t back down. Not only would it wound his pride that he held so dear to his heart, but, frankly, the Professor needed him.

He pushed the images of a boy with his own hair and a worse temper from his mind. He wasn’t here out of pity, nor was he swinging his blade because of misplaced empathy. He was simply using the Professor’s pain as a good enough reason to squeeze in some extra training. He told himself he couldn’t imagine that same chewing at the bottom of his lungs, the cold gripping his spine, unforgiving and unwilling to let go. He was not putting himself in their shoes.

“You’re sloppy.”

Byleth gritted their teeth, animosity so out of place on their face—Felix had only ever seen that look a handful of times, and it usually followed a very close call—one of their student’s lives in danger. They were protective of the Blue Lions. Felix could walk into battle with the worry in his heart quelled knowing that Byleth would do everything in their power to keep the Lions safe.

“Shut up.”

Felix scoffed. “You wanted to train,” he lilted, knowing full well that that wasn’t even half the reason the professor was here. “I’m simply here to give you pointers.”

Byleth didn’t take too kindly to that. They stepped back, digging the balls of their feet into ground, and in one blur of movement, smacked the flat side of their blade against Felix’s wrist. Felix grunted, unprepared for such speed and agility from someone who looked so lost, so pained. His grip on his training sword faltered, and while he did manage to regain his footing and surety, he wasn’t fast enough; Byleth smacked the blade against his shoulder, his abdomen, just above his knee, and Felix—he needed to learn to shut his mouth.

The faintest prick stung against his jugular. Byleth was breathing heavily, eyes shining with tears they refused to let fall. They had Felix had knifepoint now. Good.

“Good job.” The professor lowered the sword. “I’m glad your emotions haven’t stopped you from being your best.”

Byleth lost all of their anger, sword clattering against the floor as their grip around the hilt loosened. Their jaw was tight, but everything else about them seemed . . . _resigned._

“Stop that.”

The professor didn’t give a reaction. Felix hadn’t expected much else. “You’re still our House’s professor. We don’t need you in anything less than top shape.”

“How do you do this?”

“What?”

Byleth bent down to pick up their sword, knuckles white as they held the weapon tightly. “This. How do you fight out your anger?”

“I don’t.” Goddess above, he was about to give advice to the one person he hated baring himself to.

No matter what, he always felt like every detail of himself was on display for those indifferent blue eyes to pillage. Exposing more of those vulnerabilities wasn’t exactly high on his list of priorities, but he feared he didn’t have a choice. “Every emotion I feel, anger or otherwise, is simply an energy source. I use that to fuel my training. You can’t—” Felix swallowed, suddenly too rough and dry against his throat. “You can’t be rid of your emotions so easily, if at all.”

“I can’t say that’s the answer I wanted,” Byleth said softly. Felix despised that look in their eyes, shattered and melancholic—and exactly like Felix’s had been, once upon a time. But . . . it did not do him well to think of the dead.

“Your father was stabbed in the back. He didn’t lay down his life for some misconstrued noble cause or the life of another; it was simply taken from him, with little he could have done to defend himself. Your father’s life was stolen without dignity or—” No, that word had no place here. Such a thing was saved for the knights in the stories he’d loved so dearly as a child. “That anger, that indignation that’s flowing through you right now—it won’t go away. It may never leave you, because you respected your father, and he died without an ounce of it. Your sadness will pass, your pain will lessen, but there will always, _always_ be a part of you that is angry.”

The professor was staring right through him, a small inferno lingering just behind those depths he knew nothing about—and he knew he’d been right to say she was angry. Furious, even. “Aren’t such things a waste of time? That anger?”

“It is,” Felix agreed. “There isn’t a bigger waste. But such is the price of loving.”

Such was the price of loving the boar as he did, when the prince was both the boy Felix had once had complete faith in and a mere shell; such was the price of loving Sylvain, when every time, the Gautier heir seemed to place several other things above Felix himself.

Such was the price of loving Glenn, when his big brother had thrown his life away for nothing more than a tarnished ideal and the life of a boy who didn’t seem to know himself anymore. Such was the price of loving someone who was no more.

Felix readied his sword. “Again.”

“Felix—”

“_Again_.”

Sunlight glinted off Byleth’s blade as the professor got into position.


End file.
